The Rise of Rachel Price T-Girl Pt. 34

Grandpa's funeral was a somber occasion. Rachel had tried dressing as Denver a few times, but his hair would have to be cut off. His face was all wrong. His chest would have to be bound. He couldn't really pass for a man. After a few days of trying to grow a beard, which was all wrong, he gave up. A fake beard might have worked, but Denver's face was missing. It all looked wrong. He looked wrong, like a woman cross dressing. For the first time, Denver took out the photographs of how he had been and compared them to the present. More than a year of hormone replacement therapy (HRT) had changed him more than he thought. The slow change, like a growing tree, had made the transformation invisible. Now, looking at himself, he despaired. Like a deep-sea diver dropping to the bottom of the sea, coming up would have to be equally slow.

"Oh fuck what have I done?" Denver kept saying to him self. His balls were tiny, even his manhood had spent so long attached to a catheter it felt weird having his parts dangling again.

The crying didn't help. Rachel couldn't stop crying. Eventually, Mom got a text saying Denver couldn't get to San Francisco in time for the funeral but had asked his friend Rachel to go in his place. Would that be OK?

Now Rachel sat in the limousine watching Grandpa's party arriving at the funeral home. The previous funeral group was reluctantly parting the cemetery. Some of the next had turned up early. It felt like a production line of grief.

Now standing and waiting were some of Grandpa's friends, some of Mom's church group, and the rest of the family. The funeral was on a hillside, and against expectations, there was no rain. The funeral was covered by Denver's health insurance, so it became more elaborate. The coffin was more expensive. There was a healthy number of onlookers. Everyone she knew--it was a huge recognition risk, but the alternative was not being there. She felt stupidly fixated on going.

Rachel pulled the veil down to help hide her face.

"Do I look all right?" Rachel said to Levant. She wore a somber black dress which she had bought in a hurry from Neiman Marcus. It had a short jacket that covered Rachel's shoulders and, most importantly, covered the back of the dress, which left largely exposed.

"Sure," Levant said.

"No, do you think they will recognize me? God, I hope not. Okay... just stay there, and thanks for coming."

"Sure, any time," said Levant. He had been very thoughtful after the death. He had held her when she cried.

Rachel got out of the limousine, and the bodyguard insisted on standing up with his glasses on. Rachel walked to approach the crowd, looking at the family who had gathered around to attend.

Rachel moved up to Mom, and before she could get to her, Butcher came up and stood wagging his tail at her. Rachel knelt down. This was the only family member who wouldn't judge her.

"Hello, what's your name?" Rachel said, stroking the dog, then finding the name tag Denver had made for him in the school metal shop. "Butcher! Well, hello, Butcher."

Mom looked on. "You're the first stranger he's never barked at," she said.

Denver had bought him as a kind of guard dog when Mom got scared of what was going on in the project.

Rachel stood up. "Well, he probably knows when someone is a threat or not." She held out her gloved hands. "You're Denver's mom? I'm Denver's friend, Rachel Price. I'm so sorry for your loss. I was doing a hospital visit, and I met your father a week before he died. He was such a good man."

Rachel could feel her vision blurring up with tears.

Mom pulled her hand away. There was something about her face that looked on the edge of tears.

"Yeah, yeah, he was. It's a shame Denver couldn't get out of his business. Still, he's paying for most of this. You know him? Denver?"

Rachel looked at his mom's face. She had grown comfortable with not being recognized. She had been petrified but couldn't not be there. Rachel's chest felt a little less tight. This relief was tinged with the regret that the transformation had gone so far that Denver's mother was fooled.

"Yeah, he kept my phone for a while when I arrived. He was a huge help. You don't know how much," Rachel said.

She was on the verge of tears and just wanted to put her hands around Mom and hug her.

It felt so unfair. She had seen Grandpa just days before. Now this, it felt impossible and inevitable in the same breath.

The service was simple; all she could remember was the priest saying, "Are we tempted by the lie?"

The men lowered the coffin, Rachel stood with the women.

The tension of being clocked added to the sorrow. At any point, someone might recognize who she really was, and the terror of it all was too hard.

Rachel queued up behind Aunt Mary to throw some soil onto the coffin. At this point, the next ceremony was getting close, and you could feel the pressure to move on.

"We are having some people over at our new flat. Would you like to come along?" Mom asked Rachel politely.

Rachel wondered for a second. "If it's not an intrusion, that would be lovely."

"That's OK," Mom said. You could feel she was holding it all in. Rachel just wanted to hold her.

"Do you want me to take anyone? I have space in my car," Rachel offered.

Mom paused. "If you could take Aunt Mary, she's not as mobile as she used to be. You might want to take Cindy; she can help Mary."

*********

Levant walked into the modest flat with Rachel. Aunt Mary had recognized him as soon as she had gotten in the limo. Denver's family had heard of Levant and, despite coming from money some how thought he 'knew' the working poor of the bay. The attendance of a funeral with out cameras and a reluctance to intrude proved how in touch he was with regular people. After they had stopped to take selfies together, then it felt bad not to invite him in.

The apartment that Denver's mother had 'won' in a contest was quite comfortable. It was much bigger than Rachel had thought from the photographs. It was odd seeing such a wonderful apartment with all the old furniture in it. As they walked, Butcher kept orbiting Rachel like a canine Sputnik. Many of the family were distant and hadn't visited before. There was a small spread of food available and some drinks - nothing fancy, just what they could get together. Mom apologized; she had been on chemotherapy before the death but had come off the therapy long enough to do what she had to. Some of her sisters had helped out but each had reached the age where they had their own conditions to struggle with.

"I feel I should have come along and helped on Denver's behalf," Rachel said, taking her jacket off the heat felt oppressive like a chain around everyone's body.

"Nonsense," Mom said with a soft yet firm voice, her eyes filled with warmth and affection, "the congregation has been like a second family to me. You know would you like to see Denver's room?"

"Sure," said Rachel, her curiosity piqued.

They walked through the familiar hallways, passing Grandpa's room, which now held an oxygen cylinder, a poignant reminder of the life that once resided within its walls. On the nearby table, a row of tablets sat neatly, a testimony to Grandpa's daily struggle and dedication.

As they stepped into Denver's room, Rachel felt a mix of emotions. The space held both sorrow and comfort in its organization - every item meticulously placed, preserving the essence of Denver's presence. She noticed his prized posters, carefully moved from their original spots, now adorning the walls of this new place.

"This is lovely," Rachel remarked, her voice filled with appreciation and nostalgia, as she traced her fingers gently over a familiar knickknack on the table. For a second she couldn't wait to get back.

Mom softly closed the door behind her, and Rachel couldn't help but notice the look of concern that settled on her face.

"Why did you come?" Mom asked, her eyes searching Rachel's for an answer, her posture a mix of protectiveness and uncertainty as she stood against the door.

"Denver asked me to," Rachel replied with a smile, a flicker of confusion crossing her features.

"No. Why couldn't you come?" Mom pressed, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Rachel's heart sank, and she took a seat on the bed, the weight of the moment settling on her shoulders.

"Err..." she hesitated, trying to find the right words to convey the complexities of her journey.

Mom moved closer, her presence a mixture of comfort and inquisitiveness.

"Really? Do you think I wouldn't recognize you?" Mom spoke gently but firmly, her words resonating deeply with Rachel. "You gotta remember, I've known you longer than you know yourself. I've seen that face so many times, I've seen it grow. I can recognize it even after what you've done to yourself."

Rachel had been clocked. As her mother's scrutinizing eyes fixated on her, an overwhelming sense of vulnerability washed over Rachel. The weight of her mother's disapproval felt like a hydraulic press crushing her flat. Fear gripped her heart, knowing that she had been exposed, and the consequences would be dire. A cocktail of emotions swirled inside her; anger at the unfairness of it all, sadness at the potential rejection from the one person who should love and accept her unconditionally, and a profound sense of isolation as she grappled with the realization that she might never be understood or embraced by her own mother. In this moment of confrontation, Rachel found herself lost at a critical crossroads, torn between embracing her true self and the haunting prospect of losing a significant bond forever.

"Oh God," Denver said.

"Don't blaspheme his name, not on this of all days," Mom said, moving away.

"I'm sorry, when did you guess?" Denver asked. His voice wasn't that different from Rachel's; he had to push it down on the phone with his mother.

"Butcher recognized you, and that was a dead giveaway. Then there was that," she pointed to Denver's back. With the jacket off, the tattoo of the sun was obvious.

Rachel looked over her shoulder and realized, "Oh shit."

Mom moved forward. "That's why I had to get you back here before anyone else noticed."

"I'm sorry," Rachel said, unfortunately turning around, which meant that her cleavage became more prominent."Are these real Denver? Rachel what ever I call you?" Mom said putting her hands on Rachel's breasts "They are? What by God's name have you done to you self?"

Rachel could feel the tears filling her eyes. "I can explain," she began.

"You can explain this? How can anything explain this? Nothing can explain this?" Mom started, her voice trembling with anger and disappointment. "You know it's a sin, a sacrilege to try to alter what God hath wrought. Your body is a temple to the soul, and you have let the money lenders very far in. I'm going to ask you again, what have you done to yourself?"

"Mom, I did this for the money," Denver said.

Mom looked at him seriously. "Really? They will pay people to do this to themselves? Look at you, you're a whore. You're worse than a whore. Whore's don't get turned inside out. "

"I did this for you, for Grandpa," Rachel said, trying to hold back the tears.

"No, you don't get to blame him for this," Mom said, her voice wavering between anger and an embarrassed whisper. "I never asked you to do this. Your Grandpa would have rather died back then than let you have you do this to yourself. If you think any different, then you're deluded."

Rache stood up "look I'm coming back right. In about eight months or so Denver. Your Denver is walking back through that door. I promise."

Mom moved further from Rachel "Why eight months why not now? Why not next week, why not tomorrow. Give this up come back to me. I just want my son back. You pray for his forgiveness and he might relent."

"I've got a contract and I've got to do things and I need to make sure your OK. I'm paying for the health care. "

"Your paying for the health care or is he paying for the health care? You think I can let them inject me, let me eat a single pill knowing that it came from the sodomy of my own son? Is this what passes for morals these days?" Mom said.

Rachel sat up, her voice trembling with emotion, "Please, please, Mom, you can't stop the treatment. It's a crucial stage, you said so yourself. I've done all this, everything I wanted to keep you both. If you stop, then it's all been a massive waste of time. Look what I've done to myself. I'm a monster. You can't throw all that away. Please. Please."

Mom stood impassively, her features etched with a mix of sorrow and resolve, "My son wouldn't have pleaded like that. What have you done to him?"

Rachel fought back the tears, her voice cracking with sincerity, "He's coming back. One day."

"One day?" Mom's voice softened, carrying a tinge of sadness and regret. "Your grandfather told me the only regret he had about dying was not seeing his only great-grandkids. He said it was a privilege to see you grow into a young man. How wrong he was. How wrong he was. I won't tell anyone; the shame will be too great. But I never want to see you again, Miss Price. I don't want your money. I don't want anything to do with you."

Rachel felt an abyss open in her soul, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks, each drop a testament to her inner turmoil.

"Stop crying," Mom said sternly, trying to maintain her composure. "And get out. Take your so-called husband with you."

"He's not my husband," Rachel said, her voice steady, fueled by determination.

"You got that right," Mom retorted, a mix of disappointment and frustration evident in her gaze.

"I'll go," Rachel said, stopping and turning around to face her mother. Her expression softened, revealing the pain beneath her defiance. "But if you stop taking the medication, I'll tell everyone. I'll walk down to Jesse K; I'll tell the neighborhood, I'll walk into your church service. I will out myself on national television and point at you. I will be the biggest outing of all time. I'll make sure everyone knows who my mother is."

Mom's horrified expression showed the depth of her vulnerability, but she held onto her stance, unwilling to yield.

"If you stop taking the medicine, I will. Why not? I've lost Grandpa. If I lose you, I've lost everything worth having. We are family," Rachel pleaded, her voice laced with an earnest yearning for understanding and acceptance.

"You're not my family. I don't have any daughters. Now if you would get out of here," Mom's voice wavered, revealing the heartache behind her cold exterior.

Rachel put her jacket on, her gestures filled with a mix of resignation and determination. "I'm getting out. But I'm going to stick to my promise. I warn you. I can find out. You say no to anything, and I will know."

"Leave," said Mom, her voice trembling, torn between her convictions and the pain of the situation. "Or by God's name. Leave!"

Rachel left, her heart heavy with the weight of this painful confrontation. Even the waterproof mascara couldn't conceal the trails of tears on her cheeks. "Douglas, we are going. I'm sorry, everyone. You've been so good. I have to move on and let you have your grief," Rachel said as she walked out. Aunts thanked Rachel for coming, their eyes reflecting a mix of compassion and understanding for a woman who could find herself on the edge of tears for a man she hardly knew.

"Goodbye. It's nice meeting you and Mr. Levant," said an aunt on the way out. "It's nice to know someone cares about the little people. I'm sure my grandfather would have been pleased to know."

With that, Rachel walked out of the family home, leaving Denver to die, carrying the burden of a fractured family and the hope that one day they might find reconciliation amidst their pain.

****************

Decent into Darkness

A week later, Rachel found herself laying face down on the luxurious king-sized bed in the opulent penthouse suite at Thornbury. She had sought solace in this magnificent space, using it as her sanctuary to navigate the depths of her grief. The penthouse, adorned with exquisite furnishings and elegant decor, offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, but Rachel was too consumed by her emotions to appreciate its beauty.

She had chosen this particular tower to isolate herself from the outside world, where she could find solace in solitude and process her emotions without any prying eyes. The spacious living area boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that could flood the room with warm, golden sunlight during the day. At night, the glittering lights of the city below provided a twinkling backdrop that mirrored the tears she shed in her private moments. Today, and one sun past and one sun past more darkness had wrapped itself around

Surrounding her bed, stood a collection of empty glass bottles like silent crystal witnesses to her pain, forming a somber circle of memory. Each bottle had once held pure vodka, her way of momentarily escaping the overwhelming sorrow that had engulfed her life. Beside the bed sat an empty blister pack with Doctor Grant's label attached to it. The label had a long latin name on it and held a longer detailed list of warnings.

The scent of wilted flowers from the once elegant bouquet on the bedside table wafted through the air, a thoughtful gift from a Samantha who had hoped to offer comfort in the only way they knew how. Yet, the lost fragrance only served as a poignant reminder of the void she felt without the family she had lost.

Rachel had the silicone muff pants off and was dressed in a glossy black corset, sheer stockings, a garter, and a very pair of patent stiletto pumps. It was in the dark the daylight hummed behind the thick drawn curtains. Motes of dust hovered over the bed like fireflies in the dusk.

The only thing breaking the silence was the buzz of the English dildo vibrating up her backside. While she was kneeling with her back arched like a cat, ass high in the air, she used one hand to guide the vibrator. The other sent of brightly colored fingernails massaged her dick with a dead sense of futility. She tried all kinds of ways of massaging Denver's dick, but it still felt like a half-filled water balloon. The vibrator had connected like a jigsaw piece to her G-spot and she was getting quite close to another orgasm. She was fairly high and was more than a little drunk and desperate to push away the sense of doom.

"Fuck it" she said giving up her dick and used both hands to drive the dildo deep inside her. She began to moan.

"On shit. Oh yeah" she said her dark shadow eyes closed to embrace the oblivion she was on the edge of.

Her mind filled with the collage of images. Hunter's face, Charlie's, Samantha's, Peter's, Levant's, Logan, the cute girl on the coffee machine.

She looked over to the mirror and noticed the hot girl with the dense makeup getting fucked in the ass. She was a dumb fuck. She deserved to get fucked. She was beautiful and pathetic. A hot wild never to be repeated one night fuck you felt sorry for the moment you had finished taking advantage of her. She deserved everything she got, and she was getting it.

Rachel moaned more. Once she just copied Charlie's sounds, now she felt it. She meant it. Then she came with appreciative groan. The orgasm was as deep as it was fleeting.

"Oh fuck that was good." She said catching her breath rolling on her side. The English dildo was still buried in her ass. This was a short lasted oblivion but it was an oblivion, beyond, recrimination, reproach and regret. She had stopped caring what was gay and what straight, her own mother had rejected her, her grand-pa was dead and with the final thread to normality now cut she was able to engage with what ever depravity suited her. There was no point to holding back any more, no reason to look forward to going back to being Denver. She could do what ever she wanted. What she wanted was to cum, it didn't seem too much to ask.